His Bluestocking Bride

by Sally Britton

  “Have you worked here long, Sarah?” she asked. She felt it important to acknowledge servants as people too, with hopes and dreams. Ignoring the person waiting hand and foot on her had never been possible.

  “Two years.” The girl’s cheeks, rosy more with pleasure than exertion, were full and round when she smiled. “This is my first time serving a guest, miss. I hope you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do for you. A special way to do your hair or your favorite sorts of hot house flowers for your table.”

  Ellen began to brush her hair, releasing the tension caused by travel. Her hair might be black, but it wasn’t drab. It fell in soft waves around her shoulders, shining like silk. If only society allowed women of her age to wear their hair down more often.

  “Would you lay out my blue gown, please?”

  “Yes, miss. Lady Falkham said I ought to suggest you wear your best gown tonight, if you thought of saving it for another occasion.” The maid approached her from behind, biting her lip, just visible in the mirror over the dressing table.

  Ellen’s eyebrows raised. “Did she say why?”

  Sarah shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “No, miss. But I imagine it’s something to do with our other guest.”

  Turning fully to look up at the maid, Ellen hoped her expression did not entirely give away her curiosity. “Oh? Who else is visiting? Another member of the family?”

  “No, miss.” The girl’s smile returned, along with the pink in her cheeks. “It’s a handsome gentleman, one of His Lordship’s old school chums. Mr. Calvert is his name. Might you know him?”

  Know him? Ellen could feel the blush rising in her cheeks the moment his name passed Sarah’s lips.

  “Yes. He often visited during the summer as I did. When we were children.” She turned back to her toilette, her eyes not knowing where to settle. “But please, lay out the blue dress anyway. It will do well enough for Mr. Calvert.” Though she felt tempted to request the pale pink evening gown she knew set off her complexion, she would not allow herself to change plans for him when he likely gave no thought at all to her. No more than any man would give to a spinster.

  Finally feeling more composed, Ellen affixed a smile to her face and looked back up at Sarah. “How are your skills with hair? I would like something simple this evening, I think. But appropriate.”

  Sarah instantly began to describe all her favorite ways to style hair and seemed more than well practiced, having grown up with several sisters both older and younger, all in service as maids throughout the county. Ellen let her talk, offering comment when necessary, trying not to think overly long on the other guest lurking somewhere about the estate.

  But the effort was wasted. Marcus Calvert was in the house with her, the same as he had been during her childhood. She had never slipped through a London ballroom to dance with him, never seen him across a drawing room at a morning visit, nor would she ever do such a thing. Though they shared many childhood memories, she had never known the man he had become beyond what rumor brought her.

  Doubtless he came to see Collin before the start of the season, to discuss the society and politics they shared, before going to town. She would do well to remember this and stay close to Marianne, enjoying the company of a woman who was not one of her expectant sisters.

  Ellen squared her shoulders as her blue gown was settled about her by Sarah, who turned out to be a genius with hair, and told herself to enjoy her time away from home. It would not be long until her services were required there and her days of freedom were at an end.

  ¤

  At first torn between exasperation and surprise, Marcus had not been certain whether to thank his meddling friends or flee the premises. His trust in Collin and Marianne at last convinced him to stay.

  Entering the parlor ahead of dinner, Marcus realized he did not arrive first. Pacing before the fire, expression one of distraction, and figure finer than he remembered, was Ellen Bringhurst. She wore a gown the color of sapphires, a darker color than most debutantes favored during the season. Her hair glowed in the firelight, turning parts of the deep black to a midnight blue. He stood in the doorway for several long moments, taking her in.

  The last time he had seen her, at her cousin’s wedding, she’d not made this much of an impression on him. Of course, he had been distracted by his heartache at the time, not wishing to notice any woman beyond paying the idle compliment. He ought to have taken more time to renew their relationship instead of wallowing in misery.

  Ellen paused in her march before the hearth and turned her head, noticing him at last. She stood frozen for a heartbeat, but her expression warmed and a smile curved her lips. She dipped a curtsy, remembering formalities before he could take two steps forward. “Mr. Calvert. Good evening.”

  Marcus quickly returned her smile and bowed. “Miss Ellen. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Her smile faltered. “I’m afraid it’s Miss Bringhurst now. All my elder and younger sisters are married, leaving the surname to me to bear.”

  He came further into the room and slipped into the role of charming gentleman with ease. “That is a shame. Your Christian name is lovely. Might we dispense with formalities, given that we have nearly always known one another? You may call me Marcus.”

  Her head tilted to one side and her expression relaxed. Her dark eyes, a shade of brown as rich as chocolate, took him in with open frankness. “I suppose we can allow for that, at least in Collin’s home. You have held me hostage in towers too often to be formal.”

  He laughed outright, memories flooding his mind of a disgusted girl sitting with arms folded, demanding to know when she might be rescued so she could go about her own business. “You put up with a great deal from us during our school years.”

  “Indeed.” And while her expression stayed pleasant, and her eyes honest, he realized how different she was from the other women he had flirted with over the years. Nothing about her person, her smile, her stance, suggested she was flirting with him. “I imagine you did the same with a girl following you about all summer long.”

  He gestured to the couch but she sat instead in one of the chairs near it, adjusting her skirts with practiced ease.

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him, not at all reticent. “It was a surprise to learn you are visiting Collin and Marianne. I hope it is for pleasant reasons.”

  Marcus took the seat she ignored, his eyes taking her in again. “Being here in this house has always been a pleasure. I am more at home here than anywhere else in the world, I think. It is to my great advantage, however, that I am visiting at the same time as you. Though we cannot play at our past games, remembering them together should prove amusing.”

  Her smile grew for an instant before she shook her head. “That will grow dull indeed, speaking of the antics of children. I would much rather know how you have been of late. What things have you seen? Where have you visited? I am often confined to my corner of the county and I must know more about the world beyond that place.”

  “I am afraid one county is much like the other,” he answered dismissively. He hardly wanted to speak of current events or gossip when he had before him a likely candidate for marriage. “I will tell you of myself, however, if you will tell me more of your corner and your doings in it.”

  Though her lips remained upturned he thought he detected some of the light leaving her eyes. “I am not sure you will like that bargain in the end.”

  “Why ever not?” He leaned forward in his seat, eyes meeting hers squarely. “It is never a hard task to learn more about a beautiful lady.”

  Instead of blushing or demurring modestly, as most young women were wont to do, she surprised him by laughing. The sound did not come out as a polite giggle either, but a full laugh. She covered her mouth, her eyes remaining bright with amusement.

  “Did I say something amusing?” he asked, truly surprised.

  “Oh, Marcus.” His name was nearly a sigh but one of amusement instead of adoration. How
utterly flummoxing. “You can save your flattery for London. I am not at all fooled by your flirtations. That much of London behavior I am well aware of.”

  “Flirtation?” He pretended to be offended. “My dear lady, I spoke with utmost sincerity.”

  “You called me a beautiful lady. We both know I am not that.” She scoffed, her eyes shifting away from his. “Passably pretty, but not beautiful.”

  Although bewildered by her protest, he could not give in to her declaration. “Modesty.”

  “Not at all. But we were speaking of a trade of information. I will tell you about my doings if you tell me of yours. As I am a lady, I will go first.” She folded her hands primly in her lap and sat straighter. “I am afraid I have spent a great deal of time in the company of my two elder sisters and mother, discussing nothing but nursery matters. As those can be of little interest to you, I feel no need to share the details.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong. Nursery matters fascinate me. You see, I have missed being in a nursery for many years. It seems there were many more opportunities for fun in that time.” He sighed, drawing his eyebrows down in a dark frown. “And more biscuits.”

  She laughed again, as brightly as before. “I’m afraid my discussions with them were less about biscuits and more about Christening bonnets.”

  “Ah. Those I’ve no use for. My turn, then.” He tapped his chin with one finger, glancing away from her and affecting a thoughtful frown. “I have been in London visiting my mother. She stays there year-round. Prefers it to the country. She is in good health, should you wonder.”

  Ellen smirked at him. “I always liked your mother. She is a very determined sort of person.”

  He let out a huff of air and shook his head, his mind going back to his purpose in sitting with Miss Ellen Bringhurst. “You have no idea how right you are.” He made a gesture toward her. “Now it is your turn again. Besides discussing bonnets, what else have you done?”

  “Very little. Except read. I have read a great deal this summer. Usually out of doors and without a bonnet, of Christening size or otherwise. My mother despairs of me and my freckles.” She held a gloved finger up to point at her nose and he took the opportunity to lean in close, searching for the dots.

  She didn’t draw back, nor did she blush, but she raised her eyebrows and crossed her eyes as if to look at the tip of her nose herself. “There, you can see a smattering of them.”

  He bit back a laugh at her ridiculous expression and looked at the offending marks. “Not at all. A sprinkling, but not a smattering.” He sat back on the edge of the settee. “What were you reading in the sun without your bonnet?”

  “Whatever came into my hands,” she confessed with a shrug. “Periodicals. News sheets. My father obtained a pocket Encyclopedia recently and I spent more time than any lady should indulging in its pages.”

  “Dear me. A lady reading more than Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. This is hardly an acceptable past time.” He attempted to fix her with a stern look but she appeared as though she might laugh again so he changed tactics. “At least as concerns society. But what do we care for society?”

  “Hopefully,” a voice chimed in from the doorway, “you care for our society. Or else we should not have invited you.” Collin stepped into the room with Marianne on his arm. “I must say you both have deplorable manners, arriving ahead of your hosts like this.”

  “It is shameful.” Marianne shook her head slowly. “You ought to be in your rooms making us wait on you. That is how proper guests behave.”

  Having risen to his feet at the sight of Marianne, Marcus now bowed to them both. “My humblest apologies. If you wish it, Ellen and I could withdraw and enter the room after you have both settled.”

  “No, it’s all spoilt now.” Marianne sighed dramatically. “We had better sit and hope the servants have enough manners to keep us waiting a few moments for dinner.”

  The butler entered at that moment and spoke with solemnity. “The meal is ready, my lady.”

  Marcus felt sorry for the man when all four of them burst out laughing. He offered his arm to Ellen, who took it in a perfunctory manner. The woman did not seem affected by him at all. She did not blush under his gaze or his compliments, did not demure in their conversation, and took his arm as a matter of course instead of fluttering her eyelashes or preening the way others had done.

  He saw this as evidence of her practicality. Ellen must be a woman with a good deal of sense and lovely to look upon. A man could do much, much worse in a wife. Perhaps, with more time, he might put the question to her.

  Perhaps.

  Chapter Four

  Sitting at her dressing table while Sarah brushed out her hair, Ellen relaxed beneath the maid’s ministrations and allowed her mind to wander.

  Seeing Marcus again, being alone with him before dinner, created all manner of conflict inside her heart and head. For years she held him up as an ideal companion, but never dared hope he would pay her attention. Yet he called her by her Christian name almost at once. Such familiarity made her feel heady. Excited. But she could not allow that.

  Such an intimacy could be one of his methods of flirtation. Though they knew each other as children, most would put away that familiarity upon entering adulthood.

  As far as society was concerned, she barely existed. She was not important. Apart from their meeting here in her cousin’s house, she would likely never see Marcus again.

  That thought did nothing to lift her spirits.

  A light rap on the door startled her. She exchanged a glance with Sarah, who hurried to answer it. The girl opened it a crack, then stepped back to allow the person outside entry.

  Marianne entered wearing her wrap, her hair in a long blonde braid. “I am glad you are not abed yet. I wished to speak to you before you retire. We did not get the chance for a private word today.”

  “Shall I go, miss?” Sarah asked, hovering near the door.

  “Yes, of course. Good night, Sarah.” The girl bobbed a curtsy and disappeared, closing the door behind her. Ellen began to braid her hair, watching Marianne in the mirror.

  “Is the room to your liking?” Marianne walked about, straightening a cushion on the chair near the fire.

  “Yes, very much.” Tying off the braid with a ribbon, Ellen turned fully in her chair to face her friend. “I am glad to be here.”

  Marianne glanced up with raised eyebrows. “But?”

  Shaking her head, Ellen confessed her thoughts. “Why am I here at the same time as Mr. Calvert? Is he to be Collin’s guest and I yours?”

  “No.” Marianne shook her head. “If anything, I have sincere hopes you will spend your time here keeping each other company.”

  Ellen frowned, uncertain she heard correctly. “Keeping each other—? Marianne, what are you saying exactly?” She stood, gripping the back of her chair tightly. “You are not playing matchmaker.”

  Marianne’s face remained serious. “I certainly am.”

  Ellen took one breath and then another, her thoughts flying quickly through her mind. How could her friend and her cousin do this to her? Why would they set her up for such a dismal failure? Especially when Marianne knew, and had for a number of years, that Ellen admired Marcus? In a moment of youthful folly many years past, she told Marianne that marrying Marcus would be dreadfully romantic.

  Marianne must know that Ellen left that dream behind her long ago. “Five seasons, Marianne,” she said at last, loosening her grip on the chair. Her knuckles had turned white. “I’ve had five seasons in Bath. I am firmly on the shelf. I accept that. Please. Do not make Mar—Mr. Calvert’s time here difficult by throwing me at him.” She met her friend’s gaze, pleadingly.

  Marianne came across the room, reaching out to embrace Ellen. Ellen hoped this meant her friend accepted her request.

  But Marianne’s next words dashed that idea. “You are perfect for him, Ellen. Marcus just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Ellen stepped away, wrapping her arms about herself. “N
o. I’m not. He is the son of an earl, he goes to London every season, he can have his choice of women.”

  “But what if his choice is you?” Marianne asked with a wide gesture of her arms. “You are both here. No distractions. No meddlesome family. Just the two of you. Why not give it a chance?”

  “Because it would be terrible. Can you imagine me trying to flirt with him? Win him over?”

  A snort escaped the proper Lady Falkham. “He sees enough of that behavior in London. I want you to be yourself.” Her look became earnest. “I want you to talk to him and be honest.”

  “Honest?” Ellen moved to sit on the edge of her bed, shaking her head. “I dare not be honest. You know, Marianne. You know how I have always felt about him. I think that would terrify him to know a bookish little nobody fancied herself in love.”

  Marianne winced. “Maybe not that honest. I meant that you should behave as you would with Collin and me. Not the way your mother wishes, or society expects. The way you wish to be. I think he will find it endearing.”

  A suspicion formed in Ellen’s mind and she gasped. “He knows! He knows that’s why he’s here, doesn’t he?” She felt her cheeks burn. “Marianne, tell me he doesn’t know.”

  Marianne began to blush as well. “That isn’t precisely—” She swallowed. “I suppose I’d better tell you the whole of it. Marcus does know what Collin and I hope. But he didn’t flee when we spoke to him of our thoughts on the matter. That must count in your favor.”

  “Likely he is amused by the very notion of me as anyone’s bride,” Ellen said, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. “Oh, how could you? Don’t you realize—”

  Marianne spoke impatiently. “He needs a wife, Ellen.”

  Ellen opened her eyes to see Marianne looking sheepish.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” the baroness muttered, looking away and reaching up to play with the ends of her braid. “Oh dear. Collin will be disappointed.”